The best poetry
Can paint a vivid picture
Without a paintbrush.

You are a curious fleshy navigator
Explorer of mind and world

You are a synapse searcher
A hemisphere lurker

You are a voiceless idea
An unopened potion

You are beautifully blurry
An ambiguously cryptic existence

You reach my extremities
A nice warm flow

You burst from my body
The only existence I know

he drew constellations on her skin in the finest, darkest wisps of his soul.

Every day is a brand new canvas

Different textures, different hues

Let's see where the day shall take us

And what colours shall I use?

The sun is out and it is shining

Yellows, golds, we'll use today

A vibrant start to this great morning

Gonna be a super day

Colours fade when you're not with me

Even for a little while

Blacks and greys bring shadows out

When you're not here to show your smile

There's so many vibrant colours

That explode from in my heart

But they're gone when you're not with me

The colour's gone when we're apart

Greens and blues bring life to pictures

New growth, lively, breaths of life

The image shows it's strength internal

As it forms beneath the artist's knife

The painting lives beyond the canvass

Burnt impressions in your mind

This is what the artist lives for

This is what he had designed

Colours fade when you're not with me

Even for a little while

Blacks and greys bring shadows out

When you're not here to show your smile

There's so many vibrant colours

That explode from in my heart

But they're gone when you're not with me

The colour's gone when we're apart

Reds bring out the inner anger

Sending flames across the page

There's no way to hide emotions

When the artist is filled with rage

Just temper down the reds with orange

Browns and golds, and leaves that fall

Now you look at scenes of nature

And once again the artist calls

For just with a splash of colour,

Each day takes shape in different lines

But with you, each day's a rainbow

And each day has new designs

But...

Colours fade when you're not with me

Even for a little while

Blacks and greys bring shadows out

When you're not here to show your smile

There's so many vibrant colours

That explode from in my heart

But they're gone when you're not with me

The colour's gone when we're apart

Now the day has come and gone

The evening dusk invades the view

But, dusky colours from life's palette

Make stars shine, when I'm with you.







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..

settle, then, in serpentine
words once heard when
mixing roses and turpentine -
tales spun again in oils
flung on canvas sheets
always stretched too tight.
tonight a frail frame
might break
before colors make pictures.
It's only cheap pine
that holds it all together,
old bones with thin skin
you'd see through were
it not for the layers of
pigmented emulsions of
emotions trying to hide
the white, wordless,
grinning death waiting
underneath

we started a painting
when we met.
i was the artist,
and you weren't,
but i was okay with that.
you painted carelessly,
and i cleared up all your mistakes.
it was a beautiful portrait,
and i was beyond ecstasy.
but one day,
i guess you became tired.
holding brushes
and painting in blotches and strokes,
you decided to stop,
you quit and left me there.
i watched you walk out of the painting,
i watched you walk out of my life.
so then, very slowly
i grew more tired on my own.
from colors, to monochromatic.
from rainbow to black and white.
our painting turned dull.
one day, i ended it all,
never touching a single brush.
i never finished the painting.
how would i,
when inspiration is gone?
and only you,
were my inspiration.

what was it that the wind said?
what was it that the wind said when it
ran itself through your hair and
pressed its face against yours;
a foreground to the watercoloured sunset?

was it the poetry whispered by
lovestruck boys and girls
who kissed, forbidden,
in the clearings of enchanted forests?

or was it the hissing of embers
setting eachother's souls alight
in an **** of crackling fire wood?

was it the ***** chiming amongst
divine silence; only broken by
the tears of joy in a stained glass cathedral,
as she walked towards you in her wedding gown?

or was it the morning rain
as you woke up to an empty bed
with the lingering scent
she left the night before?

shattering glass in the midnight bonfires
flaring purple with the fumes of tin cans and bottle caps.
and with barefeet we were called to run
naked underneath the moon
and howl at the trees;
to walk in packs of hallucinating lunatics
and to reach peaks of mountains where my brothers and sisters
claimed to have found God.

we're the ones that swagger on the sidepath,
sleep in gutters with notebooks and easels
and charcoal. water colours. badly tuned guitars,
rusted tambourines and guttural voices charred by
a thousand cigarette butts,
loosely rolled joints
and handfuls of various powders;
some luxurious and some downright filthy.  

we sleep in forests or on drug dealers floors,
we love like feral animals,
and we dream like cats,
drink like fish,
fly like moths
and drown, drown, drown like sand.

but we refuse to wear a life-vest.

tongue feather tickles
light on ***** *******
sweet but milky faint
feeding from the ****
like loving
a painter or poet
or riding a bike
once you know it
you can never forget.

Kept in front of me is a rough handmade paper
Its furrows are similar to my unsettled life
The thick graphite pencil I hold up to sketch
My anecdotes that has made an impact on me
As soon I start sketching, the graphite smudges
Leaving dark and ugly patches on the paper
And an indelible mark between my fingers
Depicting the dark shadow that has followed me
Everything I hope for, is daubed by overcast setting
When I take up the erasers to wipe off the mishaps
The friction creates a colossal mess on the dreams
I realize that I have distorted the sketch I started
But the deep lines of graphite stare at me sullenly
Such indelible sketches hover in my mind
Not even the best of erasers can wipe them off
I tried in vain, only to be left with abrasions
I have given up on drawing up any dreams
No longer, the handmade paper allures me to sketch
For I have used up all the graphite, drawing, failures
So many failures already etched in my memory
Left with nothing but the memories of defeat
Like the dark smudges of graphite, hovering my mind